The Accidental Apprentice (40 page)

I have borne the ordeal of arrest and interrogation with determined fortitude, but I cannot bear to stay in this horrible, stinking cell. It makes me want to die. I know that, if I remain in this hellhole for more than twenty-four hours, I will lose my sanity.

The oppressive drabness of the walls closes in on me. I try so hard but I just can't breathe. I drag myself to the cell door and grip the iron bars. ‘Help me!' I scream like a deranged inmate in a mental hospital. ‘Get me out of here! Please, for God's sake.'

‘
Kya hai
?' Pushpa Thanvi appears momentarily. ‘Why are you making such a racket?'

‘I can't stay here.'

‘What did you expect? The Sheraton?'

‘I … I have to go to the toilet.'

‘So why don't you?' she barks. ‘There's one right behind you.'

‘I can't go here. Please, can you at least take me to a proper toilet outside?'

‘No,' she declares with the finality of a judge delivering a verdict. ‘Those in lockup have to use the toilet
inside
the lockup.'

‘I'm begging you,' I weep. ‘Please show me just this much consideration.'

ACP Khan hears my plaintive cries and comes striding down the corridor. He sees my tear-streaked face and nods in silent understanding. ‘Okay, as an exception, I'll allow you to use the toilet that the women constables use. Pushpa,' he says to the lady constable, ‘take her, but keep her under lock and key throughout.'

‘
Jee
sir-ji,' Pushpa says stiffly, clearly unhappy at being overruled.

She leads me around a rectangular open courtyard with a large guava tree in the middle. The courtyard is ringed by a dozen rooms. I read the wooden nameplates hanging in front of each: Barrack, Computer Room, Interrogation Room, Investigating Officer's Room, Wireless Room, Evidence Room …

The ladies' toilet is located at the northwestern end of the courtyard, towards the back of the building, facing the Women's Resting Room, where five women constables are sitting around, watching a serial on TV. Pushpa unlocks the toilet door with a key and rudely shoves me inside. ‘Just thump on the door when you are done. I'll be right opposite watching
Ladies Special
with my friends.'

As the key turns in the lock from outside, I am overtaken by a stomach-wrenching wave of shame and degradation. What has my life come to? I ask myself again and again. Now I have to beg someone even to take a pee.

I sit down on the cracked toilet seat, close my eyes and try to imagine myself somewhere else. A sunny Sunday afternoon, with wispy white clouds drifting across a perfect blue sky. In the distance, mist rising from the pine-clad mountains. I'm curled up under an oak tree with a book of poetry. Behind me Ma and Papa are sitting on wicker chairs, laughing and chatting. Alka and Neha are lounging on the grass, soaking up the sunshine. It is a place without fear, without sadness, without the police. I lose myself in this long-lost world till I am jerked out of my fantasy by someone banging loudly at the door. I hear Pushpa Thanvi's grating voice, bringing me back to reality with a thud: ‘
Arrey,
are you taking a dump or dressing for a party? It's been half an hour!'

When I return to the cell, there is a tiffin waiting for me, containing dinner. It is an unexpected treat, consisting of galouti kebabs and chicken biryani. Pushpa reveals that the food has come from ACP Khan's house. ‘What black magic have you done to him that he is being so generous to you?' she asks cattily.

ACP Khan's kindness brings tears to my eyes, makes the lockup slightly more bearable. Still, I spend the night propped up against the wall rather than risk lying on the lice-infested mattress.

*   *   *

Morning brings a new day and a welcome visitor, Ma. We meet in the visitors' room, under Pushpa's eagle-eyed watch.

‘How are you,
beti
?' Ma asks with such concern, that I don't have the heart to tell her the truth.

‘I am fine, Ma. Everything is fine. How's Neha?'

‘She is recovering well. She sends you her love.'

A tear leaks out of my eye and, before I know it, I am sobbing my heart out. Ma draws me to her chest and begins caressing my head, silently pouring in her love and affection. We remain like that for close to ten minutes, a telepathic communion that requires neither words nor unnecessary gestures. And I can sense something pass from her to me, a protective reassurance that I am not alone, a healing, spiritual energy that drains the tension and negativity out of me.

That morning I understand for the first time the true depth of the mother–daughter bond, its fierce intensity, its indestructible nature and, above all, its redemptive power.

*   *   *

Just before noon, the state-appointed lawyer also makes a belated appearance. Mr Trilok Chand is a small, scrawny man, dressed in an ill-fitting black coat, who inspires as much confidence as a homemade sanitary napkin.

‘I have seen your case file,' he tells me in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘and it doesn't look very good.'

‘For me or the police?' I am compelled to ask.

‘For you. The evidence against you is quite strong. The murdered man's blood was on your shoes, the knife that killed him has your fingerprints. You lied to the police about not entering the house. You had motive, means and opportunity, the three things needed to secure a murder conviction.'

‘You sound more like the public prosecutor than my defence lawyer.'

‘You don't need a lawyer,' he says, licking his chapped lips. ‘You need a crooked judge.'

*   *   *

The most startling development of the day comes at 3 p.m. ACP Khan summons me to his office, where he has one eye on the desk phone and another on the LCD television tuned to Sunlight TV. Shalini Grover is standing in front of Kyoko Chambers, which is ringed with police vehicles.

‘This is easily the biggest story of the year,' she intones breathlessly into the mike. ‘Two days after the sensational murder of industrialist Vinay Mohan Acharya, when police raided the posh headquarters of the ABC Group to uncover more clues about his grisly death they discovered something completely unexpected. Inside Mr Acharya's locked safe, which was kept in his private office, investigators stumbled onto a cache of secret documents that make the WikiLeaks revelations seem like a juvenile prank.' The camera cuts to a sound bite by a crime branch sleuth: ‘We are still examining all the data recovered from his safe, but preliminary analysis leads us to believe that there is a link between Acharya and Atlas Investments.'

‘No!' I gasp.

‘Yes,' Shalini contradicts me. ‘Sunlight can declare with complete certainty that Vinay Mohan Acharya has been unmasked as the mastermind behind Atlas, the elusive front company that is at the centre of virtually every scam that has happened in recent times.'

ACP Khan uses the remote to switch off the TV. ‘Amazing, isn't it?' He turns to me. ‘This man donates all his wealth to charity, and then we discover that his wealth was obtained illegally. Acharya pretended to be the epitome of rectitude, but was in actual fact the biggest scamster the country has ever produced.' In a flash he latches onto yet another telling couplet: ‘Oh virtuous, how I worshipped thee/But you turned out to be a sinner bigger than even me.'

‘Will this have any impact on my case?'

‘Murder is murder,' he notes wryly. ‘Whether you kill a dacoit or a nun, the punishment remains the same.'

‘So what will happen to Acharya's company now?'

‘I don't know. It may even go into liquidation if the income-tax authorities levy a hefty penalty on Acharya's black income. Or the board may decide to sell out to another conglomerate. I'm told Ajay Krishna Acharya, Mr Acharya's twin brother, is keen to buy the ABC Group. He'll probably succeed.'

‘That will be the ultimate travesty. Acharya hated his brother like poison. In fact, once he even confided to me that he thought AK was the mastermind behind Atlas.' I look up at ACP Khan with that momentary stopping of the breath which comes with a sudden insight. ‘Of course! AK had Acharya bumped off so that he could take over his brother's company.'

ACP Khan shakes his head in slow negation. ‘I've already looked into that possibility. AK was in the Grand Regency Hotel the night Acharya was murdered.'

‘What was he doing in the Regency?'

‘Addressing a healthcare conference in front of a thousand delegates. There's no way he could have murdered Acharya.'

‘I still feel Rana is the key to this entire case. Don't you think it's time you interrogated him?'

‘I've already summoned him. He should be here in the next five minutes.'

*   *   *

Rana walks into ACP Khan's room looking somewhat different from the last time I saw him. Perhaps it is something to do with his dress of polo shirt, khakis and fancy shoes, lending him a touch of easy prosperity.

‘I hope you rot in hell,' he whispers angrily as he sits down next to me.

ACP Khan deals with him with the brusque proficiency of a seasoned investigator. ‘What was the nature of your relationship with Mr Acharya?'

‘I was his chief aide. You could think of me as a kind of confidential secretary.'

‘So is it true that Mr Acharya had selected Miss Sapna Sinha for consideration as CEO of the ABC Group of Companies?'

He nods with a grimace. ‘It was a mistake. I told Boss so.'

‘What made Mr Acharya choose Miss Sapna?'

‘I have no idea. Boss did not share everything with me. My own guess is he was attracted to her for some reason. That is why last September he secretly bought Gulati & Sons.'

‘But that's before he even met me!' I interject.

‘Carry on,' urges ACP Khan. ‘So Mr Acharya purchased the company Miss Sapna was working in. Then he met her and told her he wanted to make her the CEO of his group if she passed his seven tests, right?'

Rana nods.

‘And you helped Mr Acharya in executing those seven tests?'

‘Not seven. Just six.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Mr Acharya became quite sick recently and didn't have time to devise the seventh test.'

‘That's an utter lie!' I butt in again.

‘ACP
sahib,
you can speak to Dr Chitnis at the Tata Memorial Hospital in Mumbai,' Rana says evenly. ‘He will show you Mr Acharya's medical records, which will prove that Boss was suffering from pancreatic cancer. Terminal stage. He was going to die pretty soon anyways. But this woman' – he pauses to bestow a look of undisguised contempt on me – ‘just couldn't wait that long.'

‘He's making this up,' I declare flatly.

ACP Khan shoots me a stern look before resuming his questioning. ‘Were you aware that Mr Acharya was the mastermind behind Atlas?'

‘I didn't have an inkling. It has come as a huge shock to me.'

‘But you were his most trusted aide. How come he didn't trust you with his secret bank accounts?'

‘I guess there are some secrets that are never shared. But I'll tell you this: Mr Acharya was a good man, not the monster he's being made out to be by the media.'

I marvel at the act being put on by Rana. He is still wearing that mask of servile blandness, pretending to be the devoted servant, the loyal aide.

‘May I ask when was the last time you saw Mr Acharya alive?'

‘When I left Prarthana on Sunday, just after eight thirty p.m.'

‘And where did you go after you left Mr Acharya's residence?'

‘To my house.'

‘And where exactly is your house?'

‘DDA Flat No. 4245, Sector C-1, Vasant Kunj.'

‘Did you remain in your house throughout that night?'

‘No. At ten thirty I left for Infra Red, the bar in Basant Lok.'

‘And how long did you stay there?'

‘Till midnight, when I got a call on my cell from the security at Prarthana informing me of Boss's murder.'

‘And what did you do after that?'

‘I immediately went to Mr Acharya's residence, where I met Dr Seth. The police also arrived a minute later.'

The interrogation drags on for another fifteen minutes, but it's getting nowhere, and I'm becoming increasingly impatient. ‘If Acharya did not organise the acid attack on Neha, who did?' I demand, glowering at Rana.

‘How would I know?' Rana responds. ‘That's for the police to find out.'

‘And find out we will,' says ACP Khan.

*   *   *

Lauren comes to visit me that evening, accompanied by a tall, dark-haired kid.

‘Do you remember him?' she asks me.

I glance over at the boy and recognition dawns on me. ‘Guddu, right? The expert lock maker.'

A shy smile crosses Guddu's face. ‘Yes, madam. I used to work at Mirza Metal Works till you and Lauren Madam rescued me.'

‘What are you doing now?'

‘I'm learning computer skills at the Foundation.'

‘Chin up,' says Lauren. ‘“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome”.' She is quoting the poet Anne Bradstreet.

So great is my despondency that, in return, I can only quote from Oscar Wilde's ‘Ballad of Reading Gaol' on prison life: ‘All that we know who lie in gaol/Is that the wall is strong;/And that each day is like a year,/A year whose days are long.'

*   *   *

At 6 p.m. ACP Khan summons me to his office again. He regards me with solemn eyes as I take the seat opposite him. ‘It's not looking good for you,' he says. ‘I've just spoken to Dr Chitnis at the Tata Memorial Hospital in Mumbai. He has confirmed what Rana told us. Mr Acharya was indeed suffering from metastatic pancreatic cancer. It has a median survival of just three to five months. Mr Acharya's condition had deteriorated to such an extent that Dr Chitnis had told him he had barely two weeks left to live.'